


And Many More

by allyndra



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Growing Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-18
Updated: 2007-10-18
Packaged: 2019-07-07 10:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15906153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyndra/pseuds/allyndra
Summary: It's Cordelia's birthday, and she doesn't have anyone to celebrate with.Set mid-season 1 of Angel, mid-season 4 of BtVS





	And Many More

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on LJ in October 2007, added on AO3 in September 2018 (backdated)
> 
> Written for LJ user xanzpet

Cordelia had once believed that the only people who didn't look forward to their birthdays were those so pathetic that they didn't have any friends to celebrate with or those so wrinkled that they didn't want any reminders of their impending senility and incontinence. And since she had always been surrounded by adoring sheep and maintained a skin care regimen that promised to keep her moisturized and wrinkle-free for decades, she had expected her birthday to remain a joyous cause for celebration for years to come.

Which may have been why the Hostess cupcake floating toward her, crowned with a single, lit candle, seemed a bit anticlimactic.

Cordelia had woken up this morning knowing it was her birthday, and she hadn't been able to quell a visceral surge of anticipation. She knew no one was going to throw her a party or shower her with gifts (no matter how much she deserved them), but the feeling wouldn't go away - the sparkly, excited 'It's my birthday' feeling. And frankly, a flaming snack cake just wasn't living up to the shimmers of butterflies in her stomach.

She pulled the snack cake out of the air and said, "Thanks, Dennis. That's really ... thoughtful, in a cheap way. Of course, you don't have any money," she mused. She wrinkled he nose and gave the empty air a sympathetic smile. "Being dead must suck," she said, not for the first time.

Cordelia stared at the flickering candle, dripping wax down onto the curl of white icing that ran across the top of the cupcake. It was almost hypnotizing, and she lost herself for a moment in the flutter of the fire, the slow motion roll of the wax. The urge to make a wish was strong, but she _knew_ better. She pursed her lips and blew out the candle instead, feeling cheated.

Planting the cupcake, now frosted with an uneven layer of wax, on the table, Cordelia grabbed her bag and fished out her sunglasses. "I've gotta go, Dennis. If evil doesn't get too whiny and demanding, I'll be home early. We can do a Molly Ringwald-a-thon." Settling the sunglasses on her face, Cordelia squared her shoulders and headed out to face the world. At least, the portion of the world that rode her bus.

She got off the bus at the stop two blocks from the office and walked the rest of the way in, silently but intently cursing whoever had designed the Jimmy Choo knockoffs she was wearing. The first thing Cordelia was going to do when she hit it big was invest in good shoes. When she finally got to Angel Investigations, she paused a moment instead of rushing in and collapsing into a chair. Going inside and having her birthday pass unnoticed by Angel and Wesley was going to make her feel like one of those unloved, unwanted people she used to pity and mock. Of course, she could always _tell_ them it was her birthday. She knew they’d try to celebrate it with her, but she also knew they would fail miserably, and then she’d either tell them how much they sucked or pretend to love whatever sad gift they came up with. And let’s be honest, Cordelia really didn’t go in for the polite pretense route, so she’d be stuck with a brooding vampire and a pouting Englishman after she informed them of all their birthday failures. It was a scenario destined to end in a big, steaming pile of guilt. And possibly party hats. Tempting, but Cordelia preferred to suffer the indignities of an unacknowledged birthday in silence, thank you. 

Taking a deep breath and lifting her chin, Cordelia went inside. She could do this. She was a strong, independent woman with brand new (if horribly inconvenient) superpowers. She could walk in there and sit calmly at her desk, pretending she didn't have a birthday-related care in the world.

Except her desk was already occupied. Cordelia paused halfway through the door, staring at Xander Harris, who was perched on one corner of her desk. He was smirking at Angel, who was standing in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm just saying, no big magnifying glass, no Sherlock Holmes hat ... You're cheaping out on the whole detective thing," Xander was saying, either oblivious to or delighted by the thundercloud scowl on Angel's face.

Cordelia raised an eyebrow and stepped the rest of the way into the room. "Excuse me, but if we decide to stop cheaping out, I vote we put the money into my salary instead of blowing it on accessories," she said.

Xander turned to her with a smile. It was the bright, 'happy to see you' smile that he had rarely aimed at her, since even their best times together had been shadowed by arguments and danger. "Is the great Cordelia Chase abandoning the concept of accessories?" he asked teasingly. "The jewelry and headband markets may never recover."

Her heart gave a twinge at his words, at his easy assumption that she was still the same style queen she'd been in high school. It was only the fact that this was Xander, who had long ago seen more in her than just a shallow interest in her appearance, that kept his comment from being hurtful.

Sliding her sunglasses up to the top of her head, Cordelia leveled a stern glare at him. "Over-accessorizing is a huge fashion faux pas," she told him. "Plus, Angel? So does not have the face for hats." She and Xander turned as one to contemplate Angel's face, which was just as chiseled and handsome as ever, but was decidedly poutier than she was used to seeing. It wasn't a cheerful expression, but it was better than the guilty desolation she saw so often since Doyle's death.

Xander nodded slowly. "You're right," he said slowly. "Not a hat face. I’m glad I didn’t buy you that Indiana Jones fedora for Christmas after all, deadboy.” A look of comic horror flashed over Angel’s face, and Cordelia felt a knot inside her loosen at the sight of Angel acting like his old self. Horror and irritation at Xander were an integral part of Angel, like brown eyes and a tacked-on soul, and it was comforting to see them unchanged.

She smiled impishly at Angel’s discomfort, then turned her attention back to Xander. “So, Xander. I’m sure acting as a human paperweight is a step up on the career ladder for you, but why is your ass on my desk?” she asked, sweeping her hair back over her shoulder.

Xander opened his mouth to answer, but Angel beat him to it. “Giles sent him down with a book about demon species that gather in large cities. He thought we might need it more than he does.”

Cordelia kept her eyes steady and her mouth firm and didn’t show a single bit of the disappointment she felt at learning that Xander wasn’t there just to see her. Xander gave her an apologetic smile anyway, and she wondered just how well he really knew her. Ducking his head a bit, he said, “I think Giles just wants to feel like he’s making a contribution. He’s taking the whole empty nest thing kind of hard.”

“He should have adopted you instead of Buffy,” Cordelia told Xander sharply. “You’d stay right there with him, mooching until he kicked you out or died of old age.” Xander flushed and ducked his head even further, and Cordelia told herself that the sting in her mind was satisfaction.

A lesser woman might have fidgeted in the uncomfortable silence that followed, but Cordelia hadn’t survived three weeks of Ms. Fenterman’s Charm School for nothing. She stood with her body poised and her feet hurting like hell, waiting for Xander or Angel to say something. When neither of them did, she sighed and said, “Are you rushing on home to the dear old Hellmouth, then?”

Xander looked up, and his expression was oddly vulnerable. “I thought maybe I’d hang for a few hours,” he said. “Catch up on the what.”

“You want to spend the day with me?” Cordelia asked incredulously.

“Giles could have brought the book down himself. It’s not like he’s Mr. Busy lately,” Xander said with a shrug. “But it didn’t seem like you’d be coming back to Sunnydale anytime soon. You know what they say: ‘If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain or return the mountain’s phone calls ...’” He trailed off.

Cordelia couldn’t stop her best toothpaste smile from breaking out. It had been months ago, and she’d forgotten that Xander had even called. The fact that he hadn’t forgotten it, that he hadn’t forgotten her, made her beam.

“Okay,” she said. “You’re buying me lunch.” She sent Angel a look that dared him to object and told him, “I’m taking the day off. If you need help, get Wesley.”

Angel took a step out of his corner for the first time since she’d arrived. “What if you have a vision?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “I know you’re old, but try to keep up with the amazing new technology. It’s called a telephone,” she said. Angel opened his mouth to object, but Cordelia ignored him. She was good at that. “Come on, Xander. I’ll show you my apartment.”

“You don’t want to just go shopping or something?” Xander asked.

“Shopping is never going to be a bad thing, but I need to go home first,” she said. “If I have to wear these shoes much longer, I’m going to chew my own feet off.”

Xander snorted, and Cordelia shot him a death glare. “You laugh, but when I’m crippled from the pain, you’re going to have to carry me,” she told him. He looked like he might actually be worrying about the possibility, and Cordelia hid a smirk as she led him out the door and back down the street to the bus stop.

Cordelia peppered Xander with questions as they walked, partly because she was trying to distract herself from her feet, which had transformed from flesh into hot molten lead, and partly because she really wanted to know what had been going on in his life. His explanation of the laryngitis outbreak took most of the trip to Cordelia’s apartment, and Cordelia let his words flow over her. His voice, his turns of phrase, his constant pop culture references were all familiar and comforting. Any other time, Cordelia might have demanded her fair share of talking time, but any stories she told would have Doyle in them, and she wasn’t ready to go there.

Xander had just started on a story about Buffy turning into a cavegirl as they walked up to Cordelia’s door, but he cut off when she let him inside. He stared around with flatteringly wide eyes. “Who did you kill to get this apartment?” he asked, peering up at the ceiling.

“Little old lady,” she said matter-of-factly. His head jerked toward her, and she laughed out loud. “Ghost! Little old lady ghost. God, what kind of psychopath do you think I am? Plus, she totally deserved it. Right, Dennis?”

Dennis displayed his agreement by bringing her a pair of slippers. Cordelia kicked off her shoes and slid the slippers on with a grateful sigh. “You’re a lifesaver,” she told him.

Xander’s eyes had gone even rounder, and he was flicking his gaze all around as though he might catch sight of strings or magnets if he just looked hard enough. Cordelia waved a hand at him. “This is my ghost, Dennis,” she explained, feeling worldly and sophisticated. It was the way she’d always expected to feel at expensive cocktail parties, and it was kind of a kick to feel that way in her own home.

“The dead old lady was his mom. She murdered him,” Cordelia said. “She made your folks look like the Waltons.” Xander shuddered, and Cordelia felt better about the shiver that still went through her at the memory of Dennis’s mother.

“Wow,” Xander said. “All I’ve got is a microchipped vampire at my place.”

“Xander!” Cordelia shrieked. “You didn’t say anything about a vampire, you loser.” She dragged him over to the couch and forced the story out of him. Sitting there in her own apartment, listening to her ex-boyfriend spin tales while her phantom served drinks, Cordelia let a tension she hadn’t even known she was carrying slip away.

When Xander finished his story, he didn’t begin a new one as Cordelia had expected. Instead, he stared at her, running his eyes over her face with an intensity that made Cordelia want to rush to a mirror and check for spinach in her teeth. “What?” she demanded.

Xander licked his lips. “I had an ulterior motive for delivering Captain Grumpy’s book,” he said, and the tension rushed back into Cordelia. “I think ... I thought we left things on a pretty good note. I’m not saying a little dress-buying makes up for impalement,” he swallowed hard, “but I felt like maybe we were friends again.”

Not long ago, Cordelia would have denied ever having been his friend in the first place, but she’d been getting more honest with herself lately. So she met his eyes and nodded her agreement. He smiled in relief and continued. “Giles said I could bring the book down next week, but I wanted to do it today,” he said sheepishly. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a small box, hesitating for a moment before handing it to her. “Happy birthday, Cordy.”

She took the box, blinking hard. She hadn’t let Xander see her really cry since she was seven, and she’d be damned if she was going to start now. Slipping the lid off the box, Cordelia peeked inside and had to bite her lip in order to keep the resolution she’d just made. Inside the box, nestled in white cotton, was a pair of earrings. They weren’t high fashion. They weren’t even knockoffs of high fashion. They were gleaming silver hoops with polished, puffed hearts dangling in the centers. They were a perfect match for the necklace tucked safely away in the jewelry box in her room.

Cordelia took a deep breath that quavered only a bit and ran a finger along the curve of one hoop. “Thank you,” she said simply. The shimmery butterflies from the morning were back in her stomach, and she felt like she might fall over if they fluttered too hard.

Xander looked away to give her time to pull herself together, and Cordelia wondered if she would ever be entirely done loving him. “So,” he said, examining the coffee table closely. “You’re rocking the slipper look, and you’ve got this jazzy, haunted apartment. You want to order Chinese instead of going out for lunch?”

Cordelia made a show of thinking about it, her fingers still tracing the earrings. “You’re still paying,” she said authoritatively. He heard the question anyway.

“I’m still paying,” he replied.

“Okay, then,” she said. Dennis brought over a menu for the place that delivered, and Cordelia pretended to look it over. “Maybe you’ll give me a chance to get a word in edgewise then.”

“I might be persuaded to shut up,” Xander said. “You gonna tell me all about your life of glamour in the big city? All the big stars you’ve met?”

Cordelia settled a little deeper into the cushions of the couch. “No. But if you spring for eggrolls, I might tell you about this guy I used to work with.”

Xander grinned at her. “You’re the birthday girl,” he said, and the butterflies danced in her stomach at the reminder. He’d remembered. “Just this once, you can have eggrolls and silence both.”

Cordelia looked at Xander, relaxed on the couch; looked at the kitchen, where Dennis was gathering plates and napkins; looked at the box in her hands; and smiled. Xander had come to share her birthday with her. She thought she might be able to share Doyle with him.

“Well,” she said slowly, “I always thought you were the worst dressed man I knew, but Doyle ...”


End file.
